


the worst best thing

by kuro49



Series: No Nuptials Necessary [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Coming In Pants, Face Slapping, M/M, Making Out, Temporary Lazarus Pit Maddness, Wife Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 04:58:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18087884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: Dick's goodbye kisses are something else.





	the worst best thing

**Author's Note:**

> all the good ideas here hardly belong to me. i continue to bless crookedspoon and Kess for creating the wifey hell that i've tossed myself head first into with no regrets.

 

They have a colour-coded system and then some ground rules even though there are very few hard lines that they have not crossed. Plenty of it going unspoken then changing on a drop of a dime.

Saying goodbye is a little bit different than it was.

To start, they say bye at all.

Usually it is Jason leaving out the fire escape before Dick ever even got the chance to zip his pants back up. Or it is Jason pushing past him for the window and then grappling to the building across from them before Dick can find his domino mask to follow.

Last night was a mint green kind of night, the apron still sitting where it is draped when Dick tells him to strip down to nothing, unfazed by every biting vicious little thing Jason has been snapping at him the entire night.

What he needs when he is pit-mad and dizzy with the Lazarus green filling up his head is a bigger badder demon, a meaner monster than what is inside of him to keep him down, holding him still by the scruff of his neck and stripping off every last streak of violent instinct from his bones until he is all out of steam.

He is looking for something to keep him tamed, someone to keep him on a leash if necessary. And if that doesn't open up a whole other can of worms just itching to get out, Jason isn't entirely sure what could.

(The first time it was ever a mint green kind of night, Jason destroys close to half the apartment before he starts self destructing.

Usually he anticipates these things a little bit better, making certain to have these episodes at his own safe houses where the furniture is a little sturdier and every piece can each be easily replaced.

Or, more specifically, where there are no contingencies involving Dick Grayson in any shape or form.

There are splinters of wood that might or might not be embedded into the bloody mess he's made of his knuckles when he broke one or two or three of the kitchen table chairs. But there are definitely claw marks down both arms, ragged matching linear gouges deep enough to draw blood if that coppery tang filling his nose is any indication at all if he isn't counting that wet slick sensation dripping viscously down to his hands.

He thinks he vaguely registers Dick getting home, the key turning, the locks tumbling free.

But it really isn't until the sharp sting of Dick’s hand across his cheek that really has him blinking back the green haze in his eyes to actually _see_. And what he sees is Dick standing over him about to backhand him again.

“Do it.” Jason rasps out because he’s already screamed himself hoarse. A hateful part of him delights in how Dick flinches back physically to see him in this state. The other parts of him are too far gone when he is dragging out a nickname that is so familiar even as the tone goes foreign with how distorted it sounds coming out on another painful heave. “But Dickiebird, you gotta do it harder this time.”

He hates that this is how Dick finds out, but isn’t that how it always goes? Dick seeing him at his absolute lowest.

“Jay—” Dick doesn't look convinced.

In fact he looks out of his mind with worry and fear, his hands fleeting up and down Jason's sides to check for any injuries that he cannot see. Jason pays no attention to any of that, not when he barely has the self control to keep from screaming until his voice is completely gone just so he can stop from stringing together a sentence that shows just how much he really needs this.

He doesn’t give Dick any warning.

This is him at his base instincts when he tackles Dick on to the floor. The two of them colliding hard against the tiles and then one another with Jason landing on top.

“I know it’s hard but trust me, _just_ this once.” The words are knocked out of him as they stumble over one another in his insistence, a great harsh gasp that has Jason burning shame all the way down to his toes. “Trust me to know my own limit, Dickie.”

It is a plead, one he doesn't have the mind to voice.

He tips his head to Dick, closes his eyes because he has no desire to read through the expressions that is probably on display across Dick’s face. He sucks in a hollow breath that doesn’t help to dissipate any of the complicated feelings stuffing his head full, bringing forth every sensation of his reanimation back to the forefront of his mind. His fingers are clenched tight, Dick’s shirt crumpled in his white knuckled grip.

He only eases up when Dick backhands him again.

This time, it is hard enough to split his lip. Jason tastes blood blooming across his mouth and he can’t help but drag his tongue out to lick his lips.

“Once more,” Jason tells him, breathing hard with red streaked across his teeth, squeezing his eyes tighter still, “ _please_.”

Dick does it again at his request.

The sting is harsh and sharp, and he is breathing harder but also easier when he can put the entirety of his green hazy focus on just this pain alone.

The pit rage has his muscles twitching beneath Dick’s hold. His cheek is burning hot even as Dick twists in his grasp to bodily reverse their position, pressing Jason’s face firmly down on to the cool tiles of the ground. Jason grits his teeth, jaw clenching down hard enough to grind his molars when he registers the pressure at the small of his back is Dick’s knee digging insistently to keep him in place.

“Jay, open your eyes for me.”

Dick’s tone is steady, cutting through where Jason's head is an open wound, bad thoughts seeping out like pus.

“Baby,” Dick starts again, and while Jason doesn't need soothing, not in this state, Dick continues like he is steeling himself to do the impossible and the fact of the matter is, it probably does feel that way for him, “I'm going to take care of you.”

There is some finality to that, like a promise he has no idea the depth to.

Jason's eyes are no less startling in green when he blinks them open to look to Dick, biting out his last words in part of his Lazarus rage.

“Just do your worst already before I do it for you,” he spits out at him.

Jason aims to hurt, aiming harder to _be_ hurt. And, Dick, he does his damn best.)

The early morning leaves sunlight streaking across the living room.

And it feels jarring when he spent the majority of last night feeling like he is trying to take gulping breaths of air from underwater.

To say the very least, he _hurts_.

Not quite from head to toe but it definitely feels like it when he's got hickies from his throat all the way down to his hips, littered in mottled reds and greens and shades of yellows like some misconstrued homage to their Robin days.

Jason finds himself pressing down on the forming bruises in the shape of Dick’s mouth, feeling the dull radiating ache spreading like a low grade fire just below the skin.

He pulls his hands back only when he sees Dick stumbling out from the bedroom, still pulling on a sock. His ring is gone, and that is expected, their games don't leave the confines of this apartment, but Jason can't help feeling that hollow gutted drop inside of him even when Dick has been easing him down all night.

“Mornin’ Jay,” Dick says around a yawn that cracks his jaw.

“You've got about fifteen minutes before you're running late.”

And Jason is good at this too, letting the feelings all fall away even as he warns him about the clock, grabbing the container of last night’s leftovers sitting on the kitchen counter for Dick.

“I'll be seeing you tonight?” Dick asks as he is tying up his uniform boots, glancing over his shoulder to see Jason putting his packed lunch into the gym bag he takes to work.

And Dick isn't sure what it is about this simple display that makes his gut want to fold in on itself, feeling like wet cardboard that has been sitting out in the rain for too long. Dick thinks there has to be more to this than just the game they keep playing because it really shouldn’t feel quite like the devastating blow that it is when he has Jason in just a pair of sweatpants packing him a lunch for work.

His hair is unkempt, curling up on one side, the white streak swept back from his forehead and out of the way. Jason is the furthest thing from dressed up, even when their version of dressed up is more often than not just a very specifically coloured apron to indicate the mood or a string of pearls that gets pulled taut around Jason's throat.

But Dick still swallows hard because Jason looks just about perfect when he is looking so settled in his skin.

“I've got a couple of things to do but I'll be here before you get back.” Jason shrugs and Dick’s eyes follow the elongated movement of his shoulders.

“Red Hood things?”

“Stop prying,” Jason shoves his bag at him, rolling his eyes, “you clearly know I don't have a day job aside from that one.”

“Yes, you do.” Dick says, putting the bag down in exchange for wrapping an arm around Jason at the waist to pull him in. He knows he is probably breaking some kind of unspoken rules when he left his ring on the nightstand but he thinks he can get away with this when they are still within the confines of the apartment. “You've got a full time day job, Jay.” Dick continues, pressing Jason back against the front door, grinning wide enough to be alarming. “You're my housewife.”

The smooth wood is reinforced with steel, and there are three separate locks to it. Jason looks at him, and they are eye to eye when he is barefoot and Dick’s got his boots on.

When Dick leans in, there is no room for Jason to pull away.

Mouth hard and unyielding, tongue all soft heat, Dick kisses him thoroughly and Jason opens right up for him.

He cups Jason's cheeks in both hands, tilts his head in just the right way for him to delve in deeper, tasting every corner of his mouth, sucking on the tip of Jason’s tongue until it is all numb. Until the only thing still registering in Jason's head is every point of contact that Dick is pressed against him.

His mouth is red, is swollen and slack. All of him going pliant when Dick’s tongue fucks into him with enough force and dominance to keep Jason in place. He kisses him sloppy and slow but with fervour, taking his time like he's got every hour in the day for this.

And Jason barely notices a thing until he is arching forward to follow Dick’s mouth, eager and meeting resistance where Dick has a thigh tucked in between Jason's legs, shoving his feet apart until he can press forward by just the barest amount of distance and he would be able to feel the unmistakable swell of Jason's cock underneath the thin cotton of those sleeping pants.

Jason fucking _whines_.

It's a guttural sound and it punches through a whole lot of Dick’s defences especially when he doesn’t have many left when faced with Jason Peter Todd.

Between one breath and the next, one kiss and the next, Jason breaks off just enough to gulp in a deep breath, his head spinning a bit to point out: “You're going to be late.”

In his defence, it only comes out just a little bit breathless.

Dick’s grin doesn't go away, not even when he leans forward and pecks at Jason's lips, almost chaste in comparison to the last press of their mouths to make sure the other knows. “Only if you don't hurry up, darling.”

It goes unsaid, much like most things, that either Jason comes riding Dick’s thigh or he doesn’t come at all.

The contrast of Dick being fully dressed for work while Jason is in nothing but a pair of threadbare sweatpants that are riding lower and lower over his hips as he rocks himself back and forth, rubbing his hard on against Dick’s thigh is only one of the many things that Dick can't tear his eyes from.

He lets him keep up with the motion until Jason is losing steam when the only pressure he gets is the rough drag of his sweats against the length of his cock and the hard press of Dick’s thigh between his own. Dick has one hand at Jason's nape, tilting his head back so he can kiss him again. The other sinking down firmly over the bruises at Jason's hips, the ones in the shape of his hand print fitting perfectly against the skin as he guides him on each downwards sway.

Dick swallows down every single noise that escapes when Jason finally comes, almost reluctantly so when the light grey fabric goes dark as he soaks through it.

He holds all of Jason's weight when he drops a little, limbs going weak and loose from his orgasm. When Jason tips his forehead to rest at the crook of Dick’s shoulder, his voice is barely there, soft in volume and scratchy from the strain he put himself through the night before even as he finally grumbles out.

“You're the worst, you know.”

Dick laughs before he is dropping a kiss to the crown of Jason's head where his hair curls in disarray. “Only because you always ask so nicely.”

When they finally pull apart, Jason looks like he's been through the wringer and Dick loves that too even while knowing Jason is not about ready to hear that. He leans in again and presses his mouth to Jason's cheek, murmuring against the flush.

"So you'll think of me the rest of the day."

When the door closes behind Dick with a resolute click, Jason just sinks down to the floor with his own mess all sticky in his pants to let out a shaky, embarrassing noise at this whole situation he finds himself in where a goodbye handed out like that lingers long after Dick leaves his side.

 


End file.
